


If We're Any More Complicated, We'd Come with a How-to Manual

by emeraldine087



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst and Feels, Angst and Romance, Artist Steve Rogers, BAMF Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, Flirty Boss, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mixing Business with Pleasure, Office Romance, Office Setting, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pepper Potts Is a Good Bro, Rating May Change, Romance, Secret Crush, Secret Relationship, Sloooooooooow Build, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, The Author Has Issues, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Author's issues have issues, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, What if Steve was Tony's Executive Assistant?, What if Tony was Steve's Boss?, office flirting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-22 07:56:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9594299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldine087/pseuds/emeraldine087
Summary: Steve Rogers realized several things all at once—like being hit in the face with a solid block of ice: he was butt-naked; there were disconcerting stings in unspeakable parts of his anatomy along with strain in muscles he didn’t know could feel strain; and he was not alone on the big-ass bed.Tony Stark, President and CEO of Stark Industries, self-proclaimed genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist and Steve’s fuckingbosswas sprawled with his legs tangled in the sheets, equally naked and fast asleep beside Steve.Steve’s mouth opened in a silent scream before mouthing “oh fuck,” and shutting his eyes tightly in an effort to squeeze his eyeballs into non-existence."Oh fuck" captured it, all right...





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> I just realized that writing [LOVE OF OURS](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7608316/chapters/17316379) has been commanding all my attention of late and I need an occasional respite from it. I need to reinvigorate my love for Stony, so I thought why not upload a Stony WIP that I can occasionally work on to get a break from the heavy themes of [LOVE OF OURS](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7608316/chapters/17316379)?
> 
> This story was originally conceptualized for the 2016 Cap-IM Big Bang but as it did not make the deadline, I thought I'd shelf it for another time. Apparently, that time is now. This is another AU with a modern setting where Steve is going to be the Executive Assistant to Tony Stark, charismatic CEO of Stark Industries, and the air starts to smell like an office romance. So you're going to have to stay tuned to see how that will unfold.
> 
> Comments and Kudos still make my inner muse sing, so be generous with them. I will try to update this every other week (if my other WIP and my work load allow) or every month, at least. But now that it'll be out there, that's always the greatest motivation for me to keep writing and to write faster.
> 
> The Prologue and the first chapter are up to tide you over until next time.
> 
> Cheers, y'all!  
> \---

Steve Rogers shuddered awake as if he just all of a sudden realized that he’d left the stove open in the small but homey kitchen in the apartment he shared with his childhood best friend, James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, and Bucky’s fiancée, Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter. But he wasn’t in their apartment. In fact, looking around with sleep-laden blue eyes at the bright and airy room—from the floor-to-ceiling bay windows adorned with sophisticated but minimalist shades, elegant wallpaper, honey brown antique-looking mantelpieces, bookshelves, and closet doors with titanium fixtures and fittings to the thousand-count Egyptian cotton bedspreads and covers and down-stuffed pillows atop the absolutely _gargantuan_ bed—Steve didn’t think he was even anywhere near their apartment.

Propping himself up to lean on his elbows, Steve continued to roam his eyes around the room, disbelieving that he could be so careless as to get pissed drunk during the company’s Independence Day company gala the night before so much so that he couldn’t even remember where the hell he was and how the hell he got here.

It was then that he realized several things all at once—like being hit in the face with a solid block of ice: he was butt-naked; there were disconcerting stings in unspeakable parts of his anatomy along with strain in muscles he didn’t know could feel strain; and he was not alone on the big-ass bed.

Tony Stark, President and CEO of Stark Industries, self-proclaimed genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist and Steve’s _fucking boss_ was sprawled with his legs tangled in the sheets, equally naked and fast asleep beside Steve.

Steve’s mouth opened in a silent scream before mouthing “oh fuck,” and shutting his eyes tightly in an effort to squeeze his eyeballs into non-existence. He hated cussing, but the present circumstances _definitely_ called for it—some unapologetic cussing that would have made a seasoned sailor blush. Then maybe—just maybe—after he had rendered his eyeballs useless and cussed until his tongue fell out of his mouth, he could pretend that he wasn't in bed with his boss, naked as the day they were born with all indications of having had rigorous coitus with him on the receiving end (judging by that peculiar pain in parts of his body that Steve absolutely didn’t want to think about at this time), which he had _never_ done before!

Oh god—did he tell Tony that—that he was a _virgin_?! It wasn’t that he had never bottomed. It was that he had never done anything remotely close to… And he couldn’t, for the life of him, remember if in the heat of… whatever the bloody fuck it was that happened last night—he had confessed to his _boss_ that he was a sobbing virgin before he let himself become the boss’ bitch!

Steve begrudgingly considered the mootness of his concern; whether or not he had confessed to his boss— _shit!_ —that he was a virgin before screwing was kind of beside the point. Because the fucking point was… And here, Steve wished he had just forgotten to turn off the stove in their kitchen after all because their apartment building getting razed to the ground by fire sure as hell was something he could handle so much better than this!... _He’d just had sex with his boss!_

Bucky was going to fucking _kill_ him—unless Peggy could get her hands on Steve first, then _Peggy_ was going to kill him!

On hindsight, Steve should have heeded his friends’ warnings. They had told him of his new boss’ reputation. He, in turn, had told them what Tony was like—he was a flirt, a smooth operator, a self-assured sonofabitch. Steve still didn’t know how he was supposed to feel about the way that his boss was one intense gaze, three smirks and two lower lip bites away from a sexual harassment lawsuit.

That while it was true that Steve once found the man too conceited for his own good—especially when they had first met—Steve gradually realized that there was so much more to the overbearing CEO of Stark Industries than meets the eye. He eventually found the man tolerable, even curious. And then, before long, he further changed his tune by going so far as to admit to his friends that Tony was quite remarkable. And bloody good looking. And smart. And witty. And stylish. And uncommonly kind. He was three adjectives short of waxing poetry about, and building an altar in the worship of, Tony Stark.

Bucky was concerned. Peggy was ecstatic, but even she had some misgivings about the set-up. After all, Tony was Steve’s _boss_. And no matter what everyone always said about needing that extra something-push-inspiration-whatever to get up every morning and haul ass to work, it just wasn’t the best of ideas to want to ravish your boss on top of his glass-topped titanium alloy ergonomic executive desk every freaking morning!

And now Bucky was going to castrate him for letting his weakness for Tony get the better of him and finally succumbing to what he had sworn to Bucky _not_ to do: mix business with pleasure.

Once Steve got the ball rolling with his thoughts, a literal _avalanche_ of concerns started to manifest itself to him. Were they seen by anyone leaving the company party together? If they were seen, who was it who could’ve possibly seen them? Could those persons be sober enough to swear to the human resources committee upon an inquiry about what they’d seen? Was it he or Tony who made the first move that eventually led them to… to…

Jesus… Steve couldn’t even say it inwardly! He was fucking lying there beside Tony in all their collective nakedness, and Steve couldn’t even come to terms with what had happened.

Well—what _had_ happened anyway? Why couldn’t Steve remember anything?! He finally, finally got what he had always secretly wanted, and he couldn’t remember _anything_ —not one blasted moment, witty innuendo, or sensation from last night. It was like everything that happened after he’d finished that tequila bottle that he took to the balcony to nurse was wiped from his alcohol-addled mind.

Steve didn’t know how he actually felt about that memory void: a part of him was ecstatic because he could very well invoke that selfsame gap in his memory to defend himself against Bucky and Peggy by claiming that nothing could have possibly happened because he couldn’t remember anything; but another part of him was disappointed. He had reined in all his feelings, his longing, his _secret crush_ , turning his job into the happiest torment and a figurative torture device, and the one time that the stuff of his dreams actually came true—he couldn’t remember a _goddamn_ thing! How was that justice?!

Palming his face with an inward groan, he turned to study the person sharing the bed with him for the first time since waking up. Steve’s boss didn’t look it at present, but the man was a formidable _force_ when awake. Steve didn’t know if it was the golden brown eyes that gleamed with intellect, the strong aquiline nose, the devil-may-care smirk or the overall commanding presence that made him so, but now Steve marveled at how the vulnerability of sleep suited Tony’s otherwise striking but roguish features.

Steve’s insides squeezed, and a knot formed inside his chest. He knew he should be leaving. He should be slipping into the first pieces of clothing that would fit him in this luxurious room and getting the hell out of—well—wherever _here_ was. But he was frozen in place, watching the rise and fall of Tony’s back as he breathed, that very inviting gap between his slightly parted lips, and the nearly negligible fluttering of his very, very long dark eyelashes against his cheeks.

And then Steve knew—was 100% sure—that though he could not remember anything from last night, whatever it was that might have happened between them was consensual. He was not abducted, dragged kicking and screaming, blackmailed or coerced under pain of losing his job or something infinitely much worse to be here. On this bed. Beside Tony. With not a stitch of clothing on. Deliciously aching. He _wanted_ to be here. He had denied himself long enough. And nothing could’ve muddled that burning need. Not even several barrels of the most potent alcohol.

But last night was different from this morning, wasn’t it? Last night, he would have given his left nut, jumped headfirst into this, if it meant being with Tony, consequences be damned. But this morning, after all was said and done, Steve knew that voluntarily staying here for the really, really awkward morning-after with his _boss_ (nothing could possibly be more awkward than that!) meant something else. Something more.

Shifting his position on the bed, Steve moved in towards his bedmate for a closer look at the calm, child-like face, free of the usual frown lines, guarded aura, and mysterious airs. He stretched an arm towards his slumbering boss as if to touch the shell of the latter’s ear, but stopped, closing his hand into a fist. What was he doing? Did he actually want to _initiate_ the uber-awkward morning-after conversation? As if his internal castigation for his colossal lapse in judgment was not enough.

“Get out while you still can, Rogers,” Steve murmured to himself, pulling his hand back and tucking his elbow back to his side to keep propping himself up. “You haven’t broken anything yet. You can still walk away from this. It’s just sex,” he continued the tirade under his breath, trying to convince himself.

But it wasn’t _just sex_. He knew it as certain as he knew he was not coerced to be where he was. He wasn’t so sure that he had not broken anything after last night. The twisting sensation in his chest while looking at his boss’ peacefully sleeping form was a definite indication that he wasn’t walking away from this unscathed.

Tony shifted in his sleep with a soft moan and splayed his left arm against the pillow by his face. On his left ring finger gleamed a simple gold band which, for all its understated glory in the soft daybreak light filtering through the windows of the bedroom, nearly blinded Steve and clenched his insides into formless lumps.

He’d just had drunken sex with his _boss_. He’d just had drunken sex with his boss who was _married_! Steve closed his eyes with an inward groan and a negligible shake of his head. His vision spun and he knew it had nothing to do with last night’s alcohol consumption.

Bucky was going to fucking _murder_ him.


	2. CHAPTER 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How *did* it all begin anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something to tide you guy's over and whet your appetite for what's going to be next...
> 
> Don't ignore those buttons at the bottom, they're IMPORTANT! *winks*  
> \---

_Six Months Ago_

 

“Weren’t you supposed to have an interview this morning?” The ever-bubbly Peggy Carter, soon to be Mrs. James Barnes in a couple of months or six, looked up from dishing out scrambled eggs from a skillet to a serving plate to try to catch Steve’s near-panicked blue-eyed gaze as the latter darted hurriedly around their cramped living room, yanking papers from their beat-up wooden coffee table, plucking various articles of clothing, pens, his mobile phone from the mismatched couches and stuffing them in a worn-out faux leather messenger bag.

Of all days to be running late, it had to be today! Steve was lucky like that. First, his alarm clock didn’t ring when it was supposed to. All the hot water was used up quite strangely by the time he did get to haul ass to the bathroom, so he had to make do with a really cold, really fast shower and on a winter day to boot! His one decent light blue long-sleeved polo shirt had a very visible rip in the left armpit that he just didn’t have the time to sew anymore, so it was the burgundy formal shirt—made with a thicker fabric that made him sweat more—or his threadbare one that was so old and worn it was hard to tell what color it was. He needed to be out of the apartment and in the subway twenty minutes ago, but he was still, presently, trying to knot his tie, grab a bite of breakfast and find his phone and coat in the chaos that was the apartment he shared with his buddy, Bucky and the latter’s soon-to-be wife, Peggy.

“I was! I should be in midtown by 8:15,” Steve answered, pawing what breakfast food he could with one hand, trying to put a semblance of order in the contents of his bag with another and adjusting his tie for knotting with his chin. Distress was very visible in the twist of his lips and the furrow between his dark blonde brows.

Bucky clucked his tongue, disapprovingly, entering the living room-dining room-kitchen area of their apartment in languid strides. “You’re saying you need to be in midtown in _25 minutes_? You’ve no hope in the world of making it on time,” observed Bucky.

“Great! Like I’m not panicking enough already,” Steve muttered, craning his neck as Peggy did him the service of helping him knot his tie while he tried to multitask to within an inch of his sanity. He absolutely loathed manic mornings. He was usually very well-organized and systematic—he was a Boy Scout, after all—but sometimes, days like this just couldn’t be helped.

Peggy, with a stern look on her delicate features, yanked at his neck every so often to keep him from squirming while she fixed his tie. “What’s the name of the company?” She prompted to keep Steve’s mind from how late he already was.

“ _Stark Industries_. It’s in the new state-of-the-art building that was featured in the news recently… Remember that one, Buck? The one with the smart elevators or some nutty contraption?” Steve said, sticking a finger in the collar of his shirt to loosen the tie a bit. He had never gotten the hang of wearing neckties, bowties or anything more formal than the plaid button-downs he was used to.

“Leave it be!” Peggy chastised, swatting Steve’s hand away from the collar of his shirt, just as Bucky whistled, impressed.

“Stark Tower, you mean?” Shuddering, he continued, “you better pray for a miracle to get you there on time, bud, or you’re kissing that job interview goodbye.” He made himself comfortable on their small table to tuck into breakfast.

“I’m going, I’m going!” Steve said, hiking the strap of his messenger bag higher up his right shoulder, slinging his coat over his other shoulder and making a beeline for their front door.

“Look for Sharon; she works in the same building! I’ll text her. Maybe she can take you—get a late coffee together or something!” Peggy called after Steve with a good-natured wink.

Sharon Carter was Peggy’s first cousin. But while Peggy was born and raised in the south of London before she migrated to the United States for good when she was 18, Sharon was all-American. Steve had gone out on a few dinner dates with Sharon in the past just to get Peggy off his back, but they’d never hit it off romantically. The last time they went out for a casual sandwich, Sharon was still working in the external relations department of some cosmetic company housed in a retro brownstone northwest of midtown. He didn’t know she’d quit that job and was now working in Stark Tower. Steve thought about taking Peggy up on that offer to look for Sharon because with the way his day was going so far, he was probably going to need several cups of robust coffee—if not something stronger—before lunch.

The crowd catching the subway was mercifully and surprisingly thin that he was able to squeeze his 6’1” frame just before the pneumatic doors closed from the station closest to their apartment. He knew that he was going to have to get off two stations before he was supposed to and try to make a run for it through backstreets and side alleys, otherwise he was never going to make it to Stark Tower in time for his interview. Plotting the route in his mind, Steve knew he must have looked a right idiot to his fellow train commuters, tapping a frenzied staccato beat against his thigh while muttering under his breath and occasionally rocking on the balls of his feet because of restlessness.

Getting off as he had planned and running through chaotic side alleys didn’t help his frazzled nerves any. He shivered in the cold of early winter despite his coat and scarf, nearly ran off his right shoe in one of the nastier alleys pockmarked with potholes covered in frost, and actually slipped while trying to vault over a barricade in another alley. He didn’t want to think about what he would look like when he got to Stark Tower—what kind of first impression he was going to give his recruitment officer—appearing for an interview like a disheveled thug.

He got to the reception desk on the 53rd floor, heaving great lungfuls of warm-ish air despite a painful stitch on his left side and wheezing the name of the person he was supposed to see, at exactly 8:15 in the morning. The girl manning the desk, half-alarmed that he was going to pass out, asked him if he needed a glass of water and a couple of moments to compose himself before she paged Ms. Darcy Lewis of Talent Recruitment to announce his arrival. He answered with a grateful tight-lipped smile.

As he was being led from reception to a small conference room, his nervousness got the better of him enough to not care anymore that his hair—what he had painstakingly combed into reluctant submission that morning—was probably sticking up like a bird’s nest in the middle of a hurricane, and his trousers were sporting numerous wet patches, the largest of which was the one when he’d slipped, landing on his ass.

Steve just had a couple of heartbeats roosting in the conference room by himself before a busty woman Steve presumed to be Darcy Lewis swept in with a mischievous, I-know-something-you-don’t-know smile on her bespectacled face. “Hello Steve! May I call you Steve—is that alright?”

“Of course, Ms. Lewis. It is… I mean, you are Ms. Lewis, right?”

“Yup. But you, cutie-pie, can call me Darcy,” the very laid-back young woman replied, making a show of putting a manila folder before her on the table and opening it to reveal Steve’s CV on top. She grinned with a slight purse of her lips before tilting her head to the side to look at Steve from another angle. “So… You are down for the position of Executive Assistant to the CEO, correct?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“You know, Steve, I wasn’t kidding when I said you can call me Darcy. Let’s do away with the ‘ma’am’ formality, shall we?” Darcy requested, pushing her funky glasses higher up her nose.

Steve nodded with a tentative thin-lipped smile.

“Why don’t we start with you telling me something about yourself—you know, to loosen you up a bit? You seem tense,” Darcy observed, leaning back on the swivel chair and crossing her arms across her ample bosom.

Steve took a shallow breath. In his opinion, _Tell Me Something About Yourself_ was, by far, the hardest interview question to answer, really. Steeling himself, Steve began to tell Darcy about hailing from Brooklyn, growing up with his mother, losing his mother to cancer, serving in the army for three tours of duty—one of which was spent as Colonel Phillips’ aide, getting a Management degree in the course of his tenure in the army, working for Dr. Abraham Erskine, CEO of a multi-national pharmaceutical company, as the latter’s trusted assistant for almost 5 years until the good doctor’s death, serving Dr. Erskine’s successor, Dr. Schmidt, for almost a year in the same capacity before the controversial cutbacks in the company brought about by a combination of Schmidt’s misplaced belief regarding his own superiority and alleged megalomania, which left Steve, along with a few thousand others, jobless and which also eventually led to the company’s bankruptcy and Schmidt’s depression until he took his own life through arson of the pharmaceutical facility that injured a lot of people—Steve included.

Steve also made mention of his love for art, reading and playing chess—which he developed because of his fascination for strategizing and for lack of better things to do in the base camps where he had been detailed. He told Darcy about what he believed to be his strengths: patience, persistence, attention to detail, resourcefulness, discipline and professionalism. He followed Peggy’s repeated advice to sell himself and put himself in the best light possible. He crossed his fingers under the table, hoping that Darcy wouldn’t point out his near-tardiness and unkempt appearance that morning.

Darcy stayed quiet but attentive during the entirety of Steve’s monologue, but when he paused long enough to signal that he had finished his self-laudatory spiel, Darcy asked, “are you single?”

“What?” Steve asked, momentarily distracted.

“Are you single?” Darcy repeated with a hard-to-read smirk.

“Oh—y—yeah. I’m single,” answered Steve, fidgeting in his seat. He had always been single. Except for a brief— _very_ brief—period of an almost-but-not-quite relationship with Peggy that eventually fizzled out and died a quick death, especially after she was introduced _by Steve, himself_ , to Bucky, Steve had never been in any serious relationships. But Darcy didn’t need to know that, really.

“Great,” said Darcy, lengthening the vowels on that one word and nodding knowingly. “So _I_ think you have what it takes to be an asset to Stark Industries and to be an invaluable assistance to _The Boss_ ,” she continued, emphasizing the last two words as if Steve didn’t already have his heart in his throat for the past half-hour. “Let me endorse you to the Senior VP for her quick personal assessment, which, as it happens, is the next stage in the application process. It won’t be long. She’s already seen your documents; she just needs to get a feel of your… _fit_ in the organization.”

The young lady then punched a button on the futuristic-looking console in the middle of the conference table. There were two short bursts of low beeping before it sounded like someone picked up on the other end of the line. “He’s ready for you, Pep,” said Darcy. She punched the same button, cutting the line, and then stood up with a slight nod and a smile. “It’s a pleasure, Steve. I have high hopes for you. I have a feeling I’ll see you again soon.”

Steve stood up just as she did and they shook hands over the table.

He didn’t even have enough time to recover from the first encounter or even to finger comb what must be a horrendous head of hair before a willowy redhead entered the conference room, carrying another manila folder and wearing designer clothes, skyscraper-high pumps and a gorgeous smile on her freckled face.

“Mr. Steve Rogers? Welcome to Stark Industries. I’m Pepper Potts-Hogan. I’m the Senior Vice President and Chief Operations Officer,” the red-haired lady introduced herself, offering a dainty hand to Steve from across the table. "It's my genuine pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine, ma'am," Steve bashfully intoned, tucking his fidgeting hands between his knees under the boardroom table.

"Please... Pepper is fine. Even your potential boss is not very comfortable with the Sir-Ma'am thing. May I call you Steve?" Pepper asked, shuffling through the papers in her manila folder.

Steve nodded with a close-lipped smile. It was difficult not to feel at ease with the affable redhead. Pepper seemed kind, but at the same she radiated with quiet efficiency.

Pepper discussed the duties and responsibilities that the job would demand. There was also mention of the workforce demographics of the company: how the workers were pre-dominantly in their late 20s to late 30s, mostly single, hailing from nearby boroughs and states but choosing to live in Midtown to be closer to work.

The redhead executive next made a quick run through of the structure of the company: that Stark Industries was a holding company for its various divisions focusing on various tech developments like clean energy, intelli-crops, medical equipment, personal tech devices, trans-atmospheric and satellite communications equipment.

"I'm going to be candid with you, Steve. I think that you will be a good fit to the company. Mr. Stark will no doubt benefit from having you in his employ. We have already conducted investigations on the references that you have provided in your application documents. And I think that you will really be an asset to the organization with your impeccable professional record, not to mention your admirable heroism during that tragedy in Project Rebirth Pharmaceuticals facility, what—a little over a year ago, was it?” Pepper asked, her features softening further as recognition that the said affair might not be as welcome a topic to Steve, considering its highly traumatic nature.

Steve only nodded. He usually tried to avoid having to discuss the events that went down during that incident if he could help it. It wasn’t really selfless heroism on his part; he had always considered himself just incredibly fortunate to have been at the right place at the right time to help all those people. He didn’t want to have to discuss it with Pepper only to play down his involvement because he was terribly uncomfortable about it.

“Well, in any case, we need more dedicated people like you in this organization. So…” Pepper trailed off, rising from her seat and gathering the papers on the desk as if the interview was already concluded. Steve scrambled to rise half a beat after she did, slightly confused as to the turn of events. “How about giving me a couple of minutes to discuss with the boss and in the meantime, you can hang out in the mezzanine—that’s the room across the hall from reception—and I will get back to you as soon as I can, alright?” Pepper asked, offering her hand to Steve again with a radiant smile.

It was just as the pair was coming out of the boardroom that Steve’s life took a decidedly more interesting turn when he forcefully bumped into a guy slightly smaller in build but packed with solid muscle, if getting the wind knocked right out of Steve was anything to go by, dressed in low-riding stonewashed denim Levi’s, V-necked white chemise, black leather motorcycle jacket and sunglasses propped on windswept dark brown-black hair.

“Whoa! So that’s what running into a brick wall feels like,” the guy exclaimed, kneading his chest-shoulder area with a self-satisfied half-grin.

“I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to plow into you like that,” Steve apologized, feeling shy and anxious all of a sudden without really knowing why. Maybe it was the man’s deportment. Or the way he filled out his simple but striking clothes. Or the way his luminous brown eyes gleamed with humor…

“Imagine where I’d be if you’d meant it?” Mr. Fashionably Understated commented, and at that Steve noticed Pepper giving the newcomer a look of amused disdain.

“Play nice,” Pepper prompted, directing her reminder to the slighter man. “Steve Rogers, may I introduce Anthony Stark, the President and Chief Executive Officer of Stark Industries? Tony… This is Steve Rogers, he’s an applicant for the EA to the CEO post.”

###

“You have got to be kidding me, Pep!” Tony Stark, President and Chief Executive Officer of an on-the-rise tech conglomerate, did not hiss if he could help it. But this time, he really couldn't help but be frustrated with what Pepper was trying to saddle him with.

"Give me one good, _solid_ reason why you're resisting this," Pepper hissed back, daring him for a logical explanation for his reasoning and glaring at him with wide, blue eyes. "He's qualified for the job; he has tremendous recommendations; he has wealth of experience. Based on the online assessments, he has the right outlook and disposition. Darcy likes him—"

"Of course, Darcy likes him! He's a GQ model who's built like a rugby player—"

"— _I_ like him! His references all checked out. The character investigation was positive. Even _Happy_ thinks he's great—"

"Happy... _Really_?! You're really going saddle me up with _Captain America_ based on what your _husband_ thinks?!" Tony practically screamed. The rest of the floor could be crowding around the open anteroom door passing out popcorn while watching him and Pepper make a scene for all he cared. But he was putting his foot down.

Granted that the last EA they'd hired on his say-so was not exactly stellar—Ellen Brandt was finally let go after losing a shipment order form meant for their facility in Abu Dhabi that delayed the manufacture of a major product line for four months and canceling a meeting that would have cleared it up with the suppliers in favor of a tabloid interview. After she was sacked, she went to the media to squeal on a sordid affair that Tony was purportedly having with her for the longest time, claiming that she was the real reason that Tony and the missus had filed for divorce.

Suffice it to say that Pepper was anything but thrilled to have to make damage control and she insisted on rubbing the matter to his face every chance she got to remind him that no, he wasn't above getting stupid ideas even if he was a fucking genius, and yes, remember that Ellen Brandt-affair which was, like, the motherlode and absolute pinnacle of Tony Stark's stupid ideas?

"Happy has been your personal security detail for years and when it comes to you, he's paranoia knows no limits, and if this guy passes Happy's scrutiny, you can bet your billions that he's been put through the wringer. Like I said, give me one good reason, Tony, go on," challenged Pepper again, leaning against the armoire closest to the door of the CEO's office where they were trying to hash out their differences when it came to hiring choices.

"And what the hell are you saying about his references checking out when two of the three people he's worked for are _dead_?" Tony asked, skirting around the challenge that was still hanging in the air.

"He has colleagues, people he's worked with. He wasn't in isolation in his previous jobs! We asked around; we conducted anonymous inquiries—look...I can keep on meeting you point for point on this, Tony, and we can be here all morning until we're both hoarse. I can stop insisting on this—I _will_ stop harping about this—if you can give me a good reason why you don't like him." The SVP folded her arms across her chest and decided to change tactics on the apprehensive CEO by being less gung-ho.

"He’s a former soldier, lifesaver of hundreds, Boy-Next-Door type, by the looks of him! And have _you_ looked at him, Pep? Do you even _see_ him? It’s fucking _insane_! If you think I don’t get enough attention in the office—or in the _media_ —as it is, let’s hire a young Marlon Brando clone to dog my heels! You’re supposed to know me so well and yet here you are, asking me for a reason like you don't know me at all!" Tony said, raising his hands in the air in frustration.

"I _have_ been looking at his documents and him all morning, and I do know you—"

"—so I think it's _you_ who's supposed to give _me_ a reason why we need to hire him," said Tony, throwing the challenge back at his long-time friend, confidant and colleague with an imperial raise of his eyebrow.

“Because you need an EA who won’t be falling head over heels in love with you within the first two months of working with you, and who wouldn’t be so willing to jump in bed with you at your slightest inclination to flirt—“

“—Oh my God! That’s _my_ fault now?!—“

“—it’s not _your_ fault, Tony! It’s not your fault if you’re charming and if the ones we always end up hiring to assist you have questionable standards _and_ morals. All I’m saying is that we’ve always done it your way—hired people you wanted to hire—since the company’s inception, and there have been hits and misses— _more misses_ , especially when it comes to hiring your EA, and it’s got to stop. You need someone who’s capable to handle your affairs. Just…just let this one be on me for a change, alright?” Pepper requested, trying to soothe Tony’s apprehension. She walked up to her friend and enclosed both of Tony’s mechanic’s hands within her own dainty ones. “Give Steve a chance. I’m sure you will come to like him eventually; I happen to think he’s very likeable.”

Tony, breathing forcefully through the nose, stared at Pepper with mild annoyance. “It’s not that he’s not likeable; it is that _he is_ , that’s my problem,” Tony finally admitted, begrudgingly, boring what he knew was his uber-expressive brown eyes into Pepper’s.

“I trust you, Tony. I trust you to maintain professional boundaries. I trust you not to do anything that will jeopardize the company and all its people. It’s going to be fine. He’s going to help you out and make you an even better CEO,” said Pepper encouragingly.

“I want to interview him—“

“—why? What for?” Pepper interjected, suspicious again. Narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips, Pepper went back to her bad-ass executive stance that pretty much worked on everyone else, even on Tony from time to time.

“I want to personally assess his competence. If I’m gonna be his boss, I need to know if he can handle working with me—I’m an acquired taste. People only ever want to kill me or fuck me; there’s no in-between. I need to know—and I think I am entitled to know. Come on, Pepper-doodle…” Tony cajoled, pouting his lower lip for effect.

This was his last chance. If Pepper was hell-bent on hiring Steve Rogers, then the only remaining recourse was to put the latter off completely that he would take himself out of the running for the vacancy. Because it took Tony only one look at Steve Rogers to know that the man was going to bring nothing but problems and complications for him. He was a thirty-six-year-old recovering alcoholic, in the middle of an ugly divorce, running a booming tech corporation employing a workforce in the tens of thousands, and he didn’t need aggravation in the form of a blonde, knight-in-shining-armor who blushes like a coquette and dresses like a GQ poster boy, catering to his every need for eight hours every day, five working days a week.

Time to turn the asshole-jerk-boss the fuck on!

But Tony reluctantly admitted that there really was something exceptional about Rogers that even his 'Jerk Mode' refused to function properly around the other man.

"So..." Tony started as he crossed his ankles beneath his table and regarded Rogers, seated before him, on the other side of his table, evidently ill at ease. "Do you take Pilates or calisthenics?"

The blonde looked genuinely confused.

"You look like someone who's concerned with your physical well-being. Ever considered an alternative career as a gym instructor or a fashion model maybe?" Tony plowed on.

"No..."

Leaning back on his reclinable office chair, Tony brought his palms together and propped his index fingers against his mouth and continued studying the man before him. "Being an executive assistant is, what, like a life-long dream of yours or something?"

"It's... It's... _What_?" Rogers asked, incredulous. Tony watched the progression of the expressions on the blonde man's face with thinly-veiled interest: there was confusion, then, recognizing the mockery in his interviewer's tone, annoyance and vexation. Aha! And he blushed when he was angry, too!

"It's not my life-long dream but the job has always provided for my needs and relative financial security, Mr. Stark. Unfortunately, we can't all be genius billionaires running our own company," Rogers said, still with as much restraint as he could muster.

The man has tremendous balls, loathe as Tony was to admit it.

"Tell me about your time in the army. I heard Beyoncé went to a base once and performed for the soldiers—did you get to meet her? Good experiences? Killed anyone?" Tony’s never been such a huge asshole, interviewing an applicant, as he was now. But he pulled out all the stops on this one. He genuinely wanted to see how much Steve Rogers could take. If Tony could make him walk out on the job application, then all the better...

"Learned a lot. Met a lot of admirable men and women. Mostly, being in the army taught me patience and resourcefulness. I didn’t meet Beyoncé but I did get introduced to Howard Stark—your father, I believe? He seemed like such a patriot. I was sad when I heard he had passed away," Rogers replied. There was sincerity lacing the discomfort in that voice, which irked Tony even more. How dare this upstart mention his father?! No one mentioned Howard to him and walked away with their dignity intact!

Tony unconsciously clenched his jaw to keep from lashing out at the person he was interviewing—it was one thing to put someone off from pursuing a job; it was quite another to invite a lawsuit because he lost his temper and took things too personal.

“At least one of us felt _something_ when that geezer passed on. He couldn’t have done it sooner, too,” said Tony through gritted teeth.

Rogers looked like he wanted to say something—probably something critical of Tony’s appalling view regarding a national treasure like Howard _fucking_ Stark. But the former soldier thought better of it and kept his mouth shut and his opinions to himself.

“But we are talking about _you_ , aren’t we? So… what’s your takeaway from Project Rebirth?” Tony asked, reaching for a clipboard on top of a pile of papers on the corner of his desk and nonchalantly scanning its unremarkable contents just to appear disinterested. But the truth was he was fascinated by the person seated in front of him. The guy hasn’t been hired yet and Tony was already infuriatingly invested!

Damn Pepper.

“The experience made me appreciate my foundational values more. There are principles that are non-negotiable. My tenure there taught me teamwork and integrity. I liked my colleagues. In fact, I still keep in touch with a lot of them,” responded Rogers, meeting Tony’s eyes without the bashfulness that earlier characterized him. And Tony could bet he did keep in touch with his former colleagues. After all, about a hundred of them would already be crispy dead if not for this guy!

“What are your expectations from Stark Industries? From your boss?” Tony asked in rapid-fire succession barely letting Rogers finish his answer to Tony’s last question.

The interviewee averted his glance to the recesses of the room, obviously thinking about how to respond. Tony’s interest was piqued again at that. Pauses like those characterized Rogers as someone who was intent on giving a real and true answer and not just a contrived and pre-rehearsed one.

“I’d like to be taken out of my comfort zone. I would like to be challenged and dared to be better than myself—than the person I used to be. It’s true that I’m not that knowledgeable when it comes to science and technology, but I would like to learn and soak up what I can,” came the candid reply.

OK—in truth, Tony’d never heard that answer to that question before. He’d interviewed, maybe, hundreds of applicants for the position of his EA before, but this was a first. He was again grudgingly impressed.

“Ooo-kaaay,” replied Tony with a toothy smile and, rising from his chair, snappily ushered Steve Rogers out of his office. He was toast. The job was Steve Rogers’ because Tony would have to be an utter moron not to give the position to this man.

Pepper sidled up to him just as he and Steve were entering the reception area. “You best hope that he’s still interested in the position, or I swear to God, Tony, you’ll be in a world of pain,” she hissed against his ear before catching up to Rogers and shepherding the latter into the mezzanine with bright smiles all around.

He hung out in reception for a while, chatting up their receptionist, Rosalind Price, and reading the random papers on her desk while trying to steal glances towards the mezzanine. He was both anxious and excited to hear if Rogers was still somehow—by some stroke of miracle—interested in taking on being his executive assistant.

It was in one of Tony’s stolen glances that he met robin’s egg-blue eyes staring unabashedly back. And rather than appear like a deer caught in headlights, Tony winked with both eyes and nodded once in acknowledgment. But what surprised Tony more was the other man’s response: _Steve_ —for against Tony’s better judgment, he had begun to refer to the other man as Steve in his head—actually nodded back with a serene smile.

Tony was fucking done for.


	3. CHAPTER 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has his first encounter with the boss and gets to know the people he'll be working with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we're still trying to introduce the cast of characters here. Not much plot points, but the things mentioned here will be good to know down the road.
> 
> Comments and Kudos are very, very welcome!

Steve ended up getting the job, and he was to report for work in three days’ time after completing the rest of the application process.

Peggy and Bucky were both thrilled about the new job, but they were anything but reserved in their comments about Steve’s future boss after he had recounted to them the play-by-play of what went down during his first encounter with the company’s President and CEO.

Assuring them that he had things under control and that it was just a matter of managing everyone’s expectations all around, Steve, too, allowed himself to feel elated about this new turn his life had taken. He was excited, too, that with the Stark Industries’ hefty compensation package, he would get to contribute more around the apartment and get to up the amount of his monthly savings. Also, with his new full-time job, he can finally quit his other casual jobs, bussing tables at the diner a block and a half away from their apartment and temping as maintenance personnel in the small department store in the heart of Brooklyn.

Increasing the amount of what he got to save every month became even more of a priority now more than ever especially after Tony Stark’s mockery about Steve’s life-long dream. He wished now that he could’ve told the conceited CEO about his not-so modest life-long dream: to own an arts supplies store.

For the longest time, Steve had had his heart set on buying the arts supplies store around the corner from their apartment, owned by an old Bulgarian couple. While Bucky and Peggy were generous in heaping him with vigorous discouragement by saying that it was a logistical and financial nightmare to keep such a business afloat, Steve remained undeterred in his life-long dream. He had always wanted to be an artist and to help other aspiring artists like him in their craft.

So even though there was trepidation that grew more prominent as the excitement of getting better-paying work died down, Steve tried to keep himself driven to do his best at his new job because he had so much more to lose now that his dream of owning an arts supplies store became just a _tad_ more achievable.

His first day at work dawned bright, cold and early. Thankfully, his painstaking preparations the night before all paid off and everything went off without a hitch that he was already waiting in the mezzanine, as previously advised, twenty minutes before eight o’clock.

“I knew I’d see you soon,” Darcy said with a conspiratorial wink by way of welcome when it was time to show Steve to his new work station and induct him into his duties as Tony Stark’s EA.

After getting himself well acquainted with his work area and documents in his custody, Darcy walked him around five floors of offices, three floors of different-sized boardrooms and three more floors of laboratories, introducing him to the other Stark Industries employees and rattling off, in rapid-fire succession, where the places of import were, within and outside the building: the employees’ lounge, the pantry, the copier room, the server rooms, the office of all the executives, the Stark Tower cafeteria, the high-end French fusion restaurant situated in the penthouse called _#haute_ , the smoking areas, the nearest drugstore, Starbucks, 7-Eleven and Gray’s Papaya.

It wasn’t until almost ten o’clock that Steve returned to his work station, mind reeling with a barrage of new information, and by his desk waited a slight of build redhead woman dressed to the nines and holding a tall beverage cup. “Hello—I’m Natasha Romanoff, EA to SVP/COO Pepper Potts-Hogan. Welcome to SI,” she greeted quite formally, offering her free hand to Steve. Her grip was deceptively strong for someone so dainty-looking.

“How was your introductory circuit?” Natasha, sitting on one corner of Steve’s desk, subsequently explained that the introductory circuit is customary to new SI employees; they were paraded around, introduced to everyone and shown the key areas in the work place.

“It was great. I can’t remember any of their names, but I figured that I will...later on, when I get to know them better.”

“You should have coffee with us this afternoon, if you’re free. I think I’m speaking for the other EAs when I say that we’d love to get to know you better since we’d all be working closely with each other,” she said with a formal but warm grin.

"I _was_ wondering when I would be introduced to you. Darcy mentioned that you helped out Mr. Stark after his previous EA was let go, so I was hoping to get some pointers or information from you about how best to assist the boss." Steve reached for pen and paper to take notes on any advice that Natasha may have for him.

The redhead was taken aback initially, but recovered with a knowing smirk. "So they finally hired someone who's really interested in pulling their own weight around here rather than just sitting there looking pretty so as to get into the boss' pants."

Steve shyly averted his gaze and cleared his throat to ease the sudden tension between them due to Natasha's statement.

At this, the redhead ceremoniously placed the tall cup of what was presumably a warm beverage right in front of Steve. "That's actually the reason I sought you out myself. To give you the initial 411 on your boss."

Steve looked at her, then at the beverage cup, nonplussed.

“He likes coffee—lots of it. In all hours of the day or night, but particularly as soon as he arrives at the office." Natasha nodded towards the cup. "He doesn't really care where the coffee is from, whether it's from Starbucks or the employees' caf or just the carafe in the pantry, as long as it's copious, hot and strong—preferably the first drip of the batch, with two packets of brown sugar, no cream," Natasha rattled off while Steve took quick notes, muttering to himself.

"Read up on the current products of the company and pop culture. He likes to catch people off-guard with out-of-the-blue questions about science, politics, office gossip...so just...keep your eyes and ears open because you don't want to be caught unawares, struggling to put together a blubbering response. He would insist on carting you around in meetings so that you are aware of what's happening in all aspects of the business because you're going to be his initial sounding board. Try to keep pen and paper on your person at all times because he's going to keep asking for them from you—he gets ideas and inspirations in the least likely places and when he has his phone, he can input them, but most of the time, he is in the middle of multitasking so his phone would be otherwise occupied and he'd ask you for a pen or a scrap of paper." Natasha quickly recited with hardly a blink or a breath in-between.

Steve struggled to keep up, big earnest blue eyes wide with wonder.

“Do you already have your company-issued smartphone?”

“Umm…” Steve trailed off with a confused expression and an uncertain shrug.

“Well, Darcy or one of the IT guys will be giving you one before the day is out and once you have it, keep it with you at all times. Don’t worry because your boss is quite considerate about privacy, official leaves and personal time but he does have a habit of calling randomly just to run an idea by you, ask if you’ve seen some movie or just to remind you about something. He’s a night owl and he has a warped concept of time—one time he called me at 3 in the morning on a Saturday just to remind me to see a movie that had just come out because he thought I’d like it,” Natasha continued to prattle on, but it was at this juncture that Steve noticed a bit of fondness in the redhead’s tone for the antics of the eccentric CEO.

“He also tends to be a bit on the workaholic side but, again, don’t worry because he doesn’t really impose on his subordinates to keep hours just as long as his in the office. He sometimes just gets into these zones that he doesn’t want to stop in case the inspiration runs out on him, but he doesn’t encourage his employees to observe long hours in the office working because he believes that having a good work-life balance makes for a happy and productive employee. So it’s company policy that overtime work is actually discouraged,” said Natasha with a lop-sided grin. “You can say we don’t do conventional around here.”

“I’ll say,” Steve said, impressed. “Anything else?”

“That’s just basic info; anything else about your boss and the job you can learn as you go along. I’ll just buzz you through the office intra-net about coffee later,” the redhead said, rising from where she sat on the corner of the table and straightening out her pencil skirt. “It’s nice to meet you, Steve, and I look forward to working with you. Talk to you later and be sure to chill for your first day; your boss doesn’t bite,” she reminded by way of goodbye before walking out of the CEO’s office’s anteroom into the hallway to probably go to her own work station.

Steve barely had time to worry about the influx of new information from Natasha before the boss himself pushed the door open from the hallway, wearing a white round-necked shirt within a gray cardigan, slim fit black denim jeans, topsiders and aviator sunglasses, which he swept up to nest on his tousled dark brown hair on his second stride into the anteroom.

“Good morning, Mr. Stark,” Steve greeted promptly and professionally in what he hoped was an even tone that didn’t betray his nerves at all.

“Good morning, Mr. Rogers. First day on the job, I see,” Tony Stark drawled with a slight smirk on his lips and amusement in his arrestingly huge brown eyes. “Has Darcy shown you around already?”

“Yes sir. Oh and your coffee, by the way,” answered Steve before offering the tall beverage cup to his boss with a tight-lipped smile that he hoped displayed proper office decorum.

Mr. Stark looked at him with perplexed amusement whilst rapidly blinking those striking eyes of his like he’s never seen anyone quite like Steve before. Steve had to admit that his eyes were the man’s best and most noticeable feature.

“Tremendous. You have just made my week,” Mr. Stark said, snapping his fingers in one hand while accepting the beverage cup with the other. “So… have you got five minutes?” He continued with a cock of his head towards the inner office.

Steve snatched his notepad from his desk before ducking into the inner office a step and a half behind his boss. Mr. Stark took a deep inhale of his drink and smacked his lips with gusto as he made his way behind his expansive table to take a seat. The office was as lived-in as Steve remembered from when he was interviewed. There were columns upon columns of ring-bound papers on the incoming tray on one corner of Mr. Stark’s office table, still more papers stuck in various colored clipboards, stacked on the side, spare parts of equipment splayed on the side table spanning the entire west wall of the office, small power and hand tools like an impact wrench, G-clamp, hand drill, needle nose pliers and several screwdrivers that looked suspiciously out of place in the swanky office of a CEO but would’ve looked right at home in a mechanic’s workshop. The surface of the office table immediately in front of the huge swivel chair was blissfully empty, and there was no computer terminal or laptop in sight. The entire east wall was actually floor-to-ceiling windows that on the day that Steve was interviewed were hidden behind black-out floor-to-ceiling curtains. The view was of the midtown skyline and the tops of the trees in Central Park about two blocks away.

“Have you met Mr. Parker—Peter?” Mr. Stark asked, going over the tall pile of multi-colored clipboards on his desk with a cursory glance before looking at Steve, who was for all intents and purposes struggling to appear as small as possible as he stood by the door.

“I—I must have. I was introduced to everyone this morning, but I hardly remember Mr. Par—Peter. I’m sure I can ask around for him,” Steve assured, writing the name down on his notepad.

“He’s one of the IT guys. Make sure to talk to him so he could put you in the system and give you temporary access to the emails of your predecessor. Just look through it, see if there’s anything worth saving, if there was anything she had forwarded to someone she wasn’t supposed to forward anything to, if she gossiped about her colleagues to the media… We have a company policy that unless an employee is being subjected to a criminal investigation related to their dismissal, their emails are disposed of within three months from the time they’re let go to make room for more important files and data in the company servers,” Mr. Stark explained, now going through some mail in brown and white letter envelopes.

Steve took note of it as quick as his messy handwriting would allow.

“Also, I need you to go over both the physical and electronic files in the custody of the Office of the CEO. If Ellen Brandt—your predecessor—didn’t make an inventory, see if you can make one or if she did, please update it, so we can better keep track of the files in our memory drives and in our file cabinets. Let me know if you’ve made the inventory and I’ll write a program that you can use for tracking purposes—make your life easier,” continued Steve’s superior, and all the while his hands and his eyes were never idle. He kept ripping mail envelopes open, disposing of inconsequential stuff on his table or speed-reading the reports or proposals on his desk.

“Oh—and please field my calls for me. I don’t want to know what you tell them or how you do it, but filter the calls that get through to me,” reminded Mr. Stark.

“Any particular people whose calls you’d want to take then?”

“Pepper’s, for one. And R&D calls, so make sure to ask for their department. I don’t want to get Sales and Marketing calls in the morning because they have a tendency to tell me what went wrong the day before and ask for more funding—calls that I would rather not get in the morning otherwise the rest of my day turns to shit,” answered Mr. Stark before finally settling into his office chair, menial task such as sorting mail done.

“You’re my first line of defense when it comes to setting up meeting schedules—lunch meetings, board meetings, committee meetings, departmental meetings, major client pitches and presentations, supplier conferences, charity galas, dinner meetings, general representation meetings, et cetera—sorting my physical and electronic mail for invites, solicitations, sponsorship requests, notices, formal letters. If you can fix my life so that I don’t have to spend entire days or more than three days a week in these bloody meetings, I would really appreciate it,” Mr. Stark requested.

“Duly noted, Mr. Stark—“

“— _and_ if you can avoid calling me that, that would be awesome… _Tony_ is fine. Mr. Stark is too… _old_ —somehow,” Mr. Stark— _Tony_ said, offhandedly, not meeting Steve’s eyes, but preferring to initialize his—was that a touchscreen digital computer console on the clear glass surface of his desk?! No wonder there was no computer terminal in sight. Then again, the cutting edge tech shouldn’t surprise Steve at all, what with Stark Industries’ growing reputation for being such a technologically innovative company.

“By the way, please give Waldo’s Pizza a ring and order—oh—about forty large, deep-dish pizzas for lunch in the big conference room. Have them to put it on my tab. Make sure to invite the others,” the boss further instructed, getting really focused on picking up where he’d left off on work because of the weekend.

“Is it someone’s birthday today, by any chance?” Steve looked up from jotting down the instruction on his notepad at his boss, genuinely curious. Maybe it was Stark’s birthday after all.

“Nope, it’s just to celebrate your first day of work here at SI.” Mr. St— _Tony_ said, momentarily looking up from his computer console to meet Steve’s gaze and give him a quick wink.

Steve was positively floored by that. His boss had not given him a very good first impression with the way his job interview had gone, so this display of magnanimity was out of left field. So much so that for about ten seconds, he stood there blankly—not knowing how to react to the brunette.

“Can you let me know if I have any meetings scheduled later?” Tony asked, breaking into Steve’s stunned thoughts.

“S—sure thing, Si—umm… Will that be all Mr. Stark?” Steve tried to recover from his stammering and cringed once he realized that another _Mr. Stark_ had come through his lips contrary to previous instruction.

Tony bit his lips between his teeth in barely concealed amusement at the slip-up, but he didn’t call Steve out on it. “That will be all, Mr. Rogers.”

Steve returned to his desk but before he could contemplate on the enigmatic man that was on the other side of the heavy redwood door, the outer door opened and a young man that looked barely out of high school sauntered in, whistling.

“Hey man! I’m here to get your fingerprints for enrollment to the SI system, to activate your email address and your intra-net registration, and to hand over your brand spankin’ new StarkPhone,” the newcomer greeted but his face devolved from being carefree to being curious. “Are… you OK? You look a little spooked right there, pal. Don’t tell me the Boss has already broken his shiny, new assistant so soon.”

Steve tried to school his expression back to being business-like and asked the other man— _boy_ , really, “I’m sorry, but who—who are you exactly?”

“Name’s Parker— _Peter_ Parker,” the young man introduced himself in the same vein as James Bond and held out his hand for Steve to shake. “And this is for you,” he finished, ritualistically placing a small tote bag on top of the desk where Steve’s new phone presumably was. “So…shall we get right down to business then?” Peter brandished the tablet he was also holding towards Steve.

Following Peter’s instructions, he placed his right and left palm, one after the other, on the face of the tablet. The IT guy did his thing with his tongue peeking from between his lips in concentration and fingers practically like ghosts over the tablet’s surface, and before long he showed the tablet towards Steve again for the confirmatory message that _Steven Grant Rogers_ was now officially part of the SI system.

“Check it out, bruh! You might wanna try logging in now so you can change your temporary password to your preferred one, go on,” Peter invited, cocking his head towards Steve’s desk.

Was Steve missing something here? He turned towards the bare surface of his desk, confused. “Where’s my office laptop then?”

“Wha—you don’t need a laptop, buddy! _Laptop_ …” Peter spat the word with a derisive snort and looked at Steve like he’d just said something insulting. “Every glass surface in this office doubles as a computer monitor. All you gotta do is place your palm and the SI home page will appear for you to key in your log-in. That way, employees can work even if they’re getting an extended coffee break in the caf; Us tech guys get our wish that employees don’t take office equipment home for personal use; and the Boss gets _his_ wish that employees don’t take their work home. Everyone’s copacetic!” Peter barely looked at Steve as he said his entire spiel. The young man just got a pen from the holder at the corner of Steve’s table and a piece of paper from the desk organizer and jotted down something, which he later offered the older man.

“Now, that will be your SI system log-in and temporary password, your email address and your intra-net username. Try logging in and see your computer interface for yourself. You can change the settings depending on your comfort,” Peter said, plucking Steve’s hand in a no-nonsense manner and placing it on the glass table top where a sign-in page with a huge SI logo suddenly popped up, bright and solid. Peter touched the top-most item box and a digital ergonomic keyboard also popped up.

It took a lot of reserve on Steve’s part to restrain himself from swearing in absolute awe. To think that even Bucky’s laptop at home that he used for his private investigation work was one of the oldest Toshiba Libretto models that still employed a pointing stick nestled between the G, B and H keys—and here, they have their glass tables doubling as their computers!

Steve typed in his SI system log-in and temporary password, and he was taken to a home page that did and at the same time, _didn’t_ look like the commonly-used operating system. “This is the operating system unique to SI—the Boss wrote the coding to that himself—your boss is awesome, by the way. This system is user-friendly like Windows but has kick-ass anti-virus like Mac. It’s the best of both worlds and is so dope—your boss is _awesome_ , have I said that before?” The tech guy obviously hero-worshipped the Stark Industries head honcho, and it amused Steve to no end.

“I heard you the first time, Peter. By the way, Mr. Stark wants me to have access to Ms. Brandt’s emails so I can sort through them for anything of import. Think you can make that happen for me?” Steve asked, stealing a glance at Peter in between gawking at his amazing computer screen.

“No problem-o, Mr. Rogers, sir!” Peter said with a two-fingered salute. “I’ll have it in a folder on your computer homepage before the day’s out.”

“Thank you. And just _Steve_ is fine, Peter,” he reminded the younger man.

Soon after, Steve was left to explore his computer, searching first and foremost for the program containing his boss’ schedule. While he was tinkering with his computer, he was on the phone ordering pizza as Mr. Sta— _Tony_ —instructed. He knew it was going to be a challenge to think of and refer to his boss as just _Tony_ , but he was damn well going to try if that was what the man wanted.

He found out that Tony was supposed to have two meetings in the afternoon, but lunch was free. So Steve also took the liberty of sending out a group e-vite to everyone via _allemployees@starkindustries.com_ for pizzas for lunch in the big boardroom, again as instructed, but leaving out the reason for the free food. It stumped Steve to have to hear his boss say it, especially considering that Steve didn’t think the man liked him all that much after his job interview that went about as swimmingly as a house on fire.

Then again, he was the one who ended up getting the job, so maybe he did something right after all.

He was about to stand up from his desk to report that there were two meetings scheduled for the afternoon when his computer pinged with an incoming message in the intra-net chat from **_nat_romanoff_** : _“hey Steve, thanks for the invite. Free lunch, yay! So we’ll see you at 5:15 at the SB across the street, OK? Everyone’s excited to chat you up. Catch you later.”_

The corner of Steve’s lips quirked as he stood up to give his boss a heads up regarding his afternoon meetings.

###

The _Starbucks_ right across the street from Stark Tower was packed with the after-office crowd within a two-block radius as Steve inched his way through the long line that spilled out the door. He wasn’t a fan of getting coffee in the early evening because he always found it hard to sleep at night, but it wasn’t the coffee he was after today. Rather, he was looking forward to the group that Natasha had gathered to meet him there.

Steve’s first day at Stark Industries was relatively uneventful save for the excitement of meeting new people, getting settled in and seeing what he had signed up for. The free lunch courtesy of his boss went without a hitch; everyone was appreciative and they made sure to let Mr. St— _Tony_ —know about it, when the boss, himself, had strode into the boardroom to partake of the meal that had been charged to his tab.

Though Tony was ten minutes late for the first afternoon meeting and twenty minutes late for the second one despite what Steve thought was some creative yet incessant badgering on his part, he counted it as a win that Tony attended at all and not begged off from it as he was wont to do according to Pepper, herself, who’d peeked in to check on him after the two meetings were done.

Steve was anxious that Pepper was going to reprimand him for the lateness of his boss, but he was puzzled when the COO actually commended him that Tony had shown up to the meetings at all. “He’s going to try all sorts of stuff to get out of attending these meetings, Steve, but you’re just going to have to stand your ground and be firm with him. I’m counting on you to keep him in line, alright?” Pepper had said, smiling at him and congratulating him on a good first day. To which Steve could only smile sheepishly without making any guarantees.

At the end of the work day, Steve fell into a quandary. He thought it was going to be in poor taste if he were to leave before his boss on his first day at work. So what he did was text Natasha that he was running late because Tony was still holed up in his room, showing no signs that he was leaving soon. He hoped the rest of the people he was meeting were good sports about it even if he were to show up late. At 5:40 in the afternoon, Tony sauntered out of the executive office with his cardigan slung over his shoulder and gave a start at Steve, who was still dutifully rifling through three days’ worth of mail which he had sorted into piles that would go into the Incoming Documents database in his computer the next day.

“What are you still doing here? It’s nearly 6 already, and last I checked I’m not running a sweatshop,” Tony had joked after recovering from the surprise of seeing that there was still someone around. “Go on, get! There’s always tomorrow, Mr. Rogers.” And he’d left the anteroom after the most unconventional goodbye that Steve had ever heard.

Steve finally eyeballed a deep auburn head of hair that could only be Natasha’s at the rear of the coffee shop. And he was greeted by the sight of an oddball group of people that had pulled about three small, round tables together to make a long one for their end-of-the-workday communion over hot or cold coffees and a pastry or two. Natasha saw him approach and waved him over with a welcoming smile.

“Here he is. Guys, guys—you’ve all been introduced to Steve this morning,” she introed, hooking an arm around Steve’s forearm and tugging him closer to the group. “But I think we all agree that we need more than just a cursory introduction because all of us would be working closely together.” Murmured agreements echoed around the table, and turning to Steve, Natasha pointed the people out to him, rattling out their names one after another.

The group was accommodating and good-humored enough that easily put Steve at ease with his new colleagues. Before long, Steve had each of their simple profiles in his mind and was looking forward to finding out more about them and the dynamics of their association.

Clint Barton was blonde and blue-eyed; the Executive Assistant to the Chief Finance Officer, Phillip Coulson; mountaineer/archer in his spare time; happily married with three kids who were all living in a farm in upstate New York where he stayed during holidays and weekends; used to work as a part-time accountant for a theme park where he also doubled as a circus feature _Hawkeye_ who could shoot just about anything armed with a bow and arrow.

Thor Odinsson was yet another blonde and blue-eyed guy but bigger and burlier than Steve if that was possible, sporting a perennial light brown stubble; an HR Specialist focusing on organizational development; engaged to a scientist, Jane Foster, who was also working in SI—in a research facility in New Mexico; born in Norway and raised everywhere else, having been an army brat, before settling in the US four years previously.

Bruce Banner was a curly-haired and brown-eyed, bespectacled, slight of build, unassuming guy with a vicious temper as Natasha disclosed; a scientist, working in the Research and Development Department, specializing in medical radiation research, astrophysics and nuclear physics, in the middle of a quagmire that was his doctorate dissertation; used to work as a scientist for the US Army, researching the possibility of physical enhancements in soldiers, but he got booted out after a tussle with an officer due to differences in research ethics.

Maria Hill was a tall, spunky brunette, obsessed with guns, Airsoft and settling conflicts in firing ranges on the weekends; was working for SI in the capacity of External Relations Specialist, handling media relations, issuing official statements for quotes in news articles and doing occasional damage control for issues that could potentially affect stock prices and corporate image; former beauty titlist, particularly _Ms. Nevada_ and her advocacy had been to empower women, being a responsible gun use enthusiast, judo and taekwondo black-belter, and self-defense instructor.

Scott Lang was a mahogany-haired and blue-eyed jovial type; in the process of getting his Masters in Electrical Engineering; the Executive Assistant to the Chief Science Officer, Dr. Henry Pym, who was supposedly even more of an eccentric recluse than Tony Stark was; divorced but has shared custody with his seven-year-old daughter; roomies with Clint on weekdays in an apartment at the outskirts of midtown; once did time pulling a Robin Hood-type of digital heist but was given the mother of all second chances working for Dr. Pym and now for the bigger conglomerate that was SI.

Foggy Nelson was short, stocky and sharp-tongued; perennial bar exams reviewee who had graduated from NYU Law some time ago but had not taken the bar exams yet due to nerves; a fan and avid follower of most TV series available on the face of the planet but would absolutely maim and kill in the name of _Game of Thrones_ ; the Executive Assistant to the Chief Legal Officer, Matthew Murdock, who was one of the youngest SI executives, with the exception of Tony Stark himself, and was also—most interestingly—completely _blind_ since the tender age of eight.

Pietro and Wanda Maximoff were fraternal twins with the former having sandy blonde hair and the latter, burgundy-brown hair, working as a Market Researcher and Paralegal, respectively; both started out as mere interns for the company until they were both hired in their present capacities despite their relationship and the rampant business practice not to hire relatives to work in the same workplace. Pietro was a quick learner and a fast thinker; he was responsible for devising the current market analysis models used by the company and, according to Maria who worked in the bigger External Relations Group with him, always had the CEO’s ear when it came to his suggested marketing moves. He liked running and keeping fit, and he would always participate in runs for various advocacies. Wanda, on the other hand, was silently intuitive and scary organized, working for the Legal and Compliance Group under Mr. Murdock, mostly handling employee-related concerns, grievances and cases; though most of the other employees found her weird and intimidating, she got the job done of settling what employee disputes and grievances she could. She was a self-confessed introvert who liked to read and watch cable shows about cooking and the history of food. The twins were born abroad but migrated to the US soon after; they were also orphaned at a young age when both of their parents died in the 9/11 attack—their mother worked in the North tower of the World Trade Center while their father got trapped in the South tower as he was an on-duty fireman then attempting a rescue.

Darcy Lewis and Peter Parker were also part of the group, but then Steve had already been acquainted with them earlier.

Theirs was a fun group, already so in tune with each other that they seemed to be able to hold conversations with the flash of their eyes or the purse of their lips. They talked about such a wide range of topics that gave Steve the impression that they weren’t only co-workers but friends outside of the workplace. They discussed Hollywood gossip, office gossip, family milestones, and events at work.

They had a lot of inside jokes that they still had to explain to Steve, but all in all, Steve didn’t feel left out hanging out with them. They kept referring to ‘the next time they hang out’, which made Steve think that they enjoyed his company, too, and there would be a next time.

“Maybe then, we’d have more alcohol, too, and none of this artisanal coffee shit, which by the way, is all your fault, _Nat_ —why do you love _Starbucks_ so much? I mean I have a daughter to feed and I seem to always blow off cash in joints like this! When do I get a say in where we hang out?” Scott asked, making a face as he took a sip of his caramel macchiato.

“Nat’s been severely influenced into drinking outrageous amounts of coffee by Tony,” Bruce leaned closer to Steve and supplied, sensing Steve’s slightly confused expression.

“How long did you have to assist Mr. Stark after Ms. Brandt was let go?” Steve asked Nat, remembering that he failed to ask that question that morning.

“Just a few days short of two months. He and Pepper were in some kind of power play to find you—they sure took their sweet time,” she replied.

“So guys, any other advice for me about dealing with Mr. Stark?” Steve directed the question to everyone in the group, taking a small sip of the hot chocolate he ordered on Nat’s tab because she’d insisted.

“Stop calling him that or you’ll never hear the end of it,” Foggy answered.

“And whatever you do, don’t fall in love with him,” Clint advised, his expression without a tinge of amusement that Steve was half-expecting with that kind of statement.

“That’s not a joke,” Natasha added swiftly. “Seriously, Steve. Don’t fall in love with Tony. Three of his last four assistants did. And trust me, if the one who didn’t was unmarried at the time she worked in SI, she would have fallen hard for him, too—“

“O—kaay, what? I mean, I’m—I’m not… I don’t really—“ Steve stuttered.

“—swing that way? Not gay? Neither am I, Steve, and I’m half in love with Tony already,” Bruce piped up. “With that man’s analytic mind and drive and charm? You should see him address a boardroom or deliver a speech in a company gala. _Wow_. If I were a woman, I’d be climbing that man like a tree. Peter’s infatuated with him, too.”

That, Steve was aware of.

“And the way clothes fit on that man? It’s criminal!” Maria added, “and whatever you do—do not stare at his ass for more than two seconds. The ass on that man is just… _ridiculous_.” All of a sudden, the table became the Tony Stark Admirers Anonymous Meeting as everyone pitched in about what they most admired about their illustrious leader.

Steve bit his lip in thought. There was nothing for them to be worried about, really. There was absolutely no way that he’d _fall_ for Tony Stark. It was preposterous; Steve didn’t even like the guy all that much for his arrogance and bluntness, recalling their tense exchange during Steve’s interview. Plus, he found the guy intimidating and he was Steve’s _boss_ to boot! Steve was a lot of things, but he was professional.

So even if he did find the occasional guy handsome enough and worthy of a double take and Tony Stark was not hard on the eyes at all, Steve just couldn’t imagine himself ruining a good thing he got going with this job by getting romantically invested with his immediate superior!

Looking up from his cup of hot chocolate, he met Natasha’s scrutinizing gaze. He had no idea what that look meant. Or if he even wanted to know.


End file.
